Soon leaves, twigs, seed pods, insects, even branches float past your feet on a rust-red stream that carries pebbles and rocks to scour at the top-soil. Where minutes before there was only dust and desperation, there is water evrywhere. The air clears.... the smell of new-wet earth is all pervasive, filling the lungs with life again .... where there was silence there is a steady roar.
And then it is gone. As it is slow and unwilling to fall, so it quick and anxious to be gone. A rainbow arcs the horizon, the sky lifts, and the sun returns to re-claim her own. The world is fresh and new. The streams churn on a while, grinding yearly ever more deeply into their chosen course. They falter slowly, and then die.
Evening sets in. The sky is dressed in apricot, lilac, indigo, orange and vermillion. The night falls .... another deep, black-suede African night, full of the silence that is all the sounds of the bush.
BD's photos of the gathering storm, taken between Headlands and Macheke